Doublethink
by Moral Turpentine
Summary: "Doublethink means the power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them." When everything you knew to be black and white is really many shades of grey, who can you trust? SS/HG, possibly some SS/HG/LM. AU. M for language, violence, and, of course, sexual content.


**A/N: Hi, guys! This is my first attempt at a serious story. I own absolutely nothing! I'm not going to post a summary because I don't want anyone assuming how this story is going to play out. My Hermione is going to be slightly OOC, but I'll try to keep my Severus as true to form as I can. I usually just write fluffy one-shots and humorus anecdotes, so please, be gentle with me!**

**Love you all & I hope you enjoy!**

**~Libby**

"Doublethink means the power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them."

-George Orwell

Rain smacked brutally against the thick window panes. Thunder crashed outside the sturdy walls of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, making Hermione Granger turn uncomfortably in her lumpy shared bed. Storms had always made the young Gryffindor uneasy when she was around others and downright terrified when alone. She never totally understood why, but it kept her awake that night.

Lightning flashed through the room like a strobe light and thunder pulsed once again, accompanying the bolt. Hermione watched the shadows of the trees dance along the wall of her dingy bedroom. Ginny Weasley groaned in agitation from the other side of the bed. It was cool and humid inside the spare bedroom that she was residing in, making each breath a struggle for the witch. Drops of water landed in a soup pot in the corner of the room from a leak in the roof with a soft _plink, plink, plink_ that was bound to make Hermione lose her mind. It seemed to cut through the silence with an agitating ring.

"Hermione?" The whisper was almost lost against the resounding crack that filled the room.

"Hm?" Hermione responded tiredly. They were exhausted in almost every way possible and the storm currently raging thoroughly prevented any kind of rest. Depletion, she was beginning to realize, was tiresome within itself. Her muscles felt like they were made from over-cooked noodles, completely limp and strength-less.

"I'm afraid."

Hermione looked to the redhead with droopy—albeit concerned—eyes, "It's just a storm, Gin."

"But I'm not talking about—"

"I know exactly what you're talking about." Hermione mumbled, absentmindedly scratching the newly formed scar on her chest. Two nights before, she and her friends had foolishly traipsed into the Department of Mysteries intent on saving Sirius Black and the prophecy from the clutches of the Dark Lord. Many losses were felt that night, mainly that of Sirius. He was struck down by an Avada Kedavra dealt by his own flesh and blood. Antonin Dolohov had also taken it upon himself to curse her and slash her from shoulder to hip.

"We're going to be okay." Hermione grasped the other girls hand in what she hoped was reassuring and not desperate. Her hand felt clammy, but it was a way to ground her and not let her thoughts carry her away. The battle at the Ministry was playing on an endless loop in her mind's eye. All she could see was Sirius falling through the veil through an eye that was sliding shut from the copious amount of blood that was flowing from her open wound.

_Plink, plink, plink_. "But—" Exhaling deeply and patiently, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut.

"We. Are. Going. To. Be. Okay." She ground out between clenched teeth. Hermione was horrified, terrified, and any other –fied's that she could think of to describe her dismal mood at the moment. Annoyance was really taking hold. Annoyance at Ginny, annoyance at Sirius for having to be a hero, annoyance at this stupid bloody storm that refused to let her sleep. _Plink, plink, plink_.

Ginny squeezed her hand and laced their fingers together tightly. "We'll be okay." Ginny repeated to herself.

"Of course we will. I'll be back after a bit." Hermione squeezed Ginny's hand again and slowly crept from the room. Her socked feet felt the cold as it bled through the thin cotton from the creaky wooden floorboards. It took a lot of strengthening to her resolve to work up the nerve to go alone in the middle of a storm, but she kept whispering "Drink of water and back to bed. Drink of water and back to bed," over and over again.

Technically, she wasn't allowed to be up right now. She wasn't even supposed to be talking very much. The silence and stillness was bound to drive her crazy if she stayed in that bed, flat on her back, any longer. Remus Lupin had offered up some comfortable clothes for her to wear after the wound was through bleeding, so her clothing was a good three sizes too large, making her stumble slightly down the stairs.

After two days of non-use, Hermione's legs were wobbly. She gritted her teeth and clung to the banister. Her heart was beating profusely and she had to smack her hands away from itching the fresh scar tissue that spanned from her left shoulder, across the underside of her right breast and down to her hip.

A crack of thunder forced a yelp from her throat right as she rounded her way into the kitchen. All the lights were off, so she nearly had a heart attack when she felt a wand pressed to her throat. The stale stench of firewhiskey infiltrated her nostrils. She attempted to protest when the holder of the wand cast a 'lumos' to see her face.

The visible relief of her Potions Professor made her go lax as well. She let out the breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding and pushed the wand away from her face with a finger. Hermione was not in the mood to deal with the dour man. Especially when he was drunk.

"You shouldn't be out of bed." Snape narrowed his dark eyes at her and she raised her chin defiantly. She was exhausted, pissy, and irritated enough to tear someone's head off. Her hand found the switch on the wall, illuminating the room. He flinched away from it. Truth be told, she was glad someone was downstairs with her. It was humiliating how bad a storm would get to her. She was sixteen, dammit, not six.

"I couldn't stand to be in that room anymore." She gave in and began to scratch the scar. It was too late—or early—to worry about being proper. She pulled her right arm inside her shirt and itched with her short nails. Her left hand steadied herself against the wall as he eyed her. His lip curled disdainfully and she questioned herself whether or not it was just a knee-jerk reaction anymore.

"What?" She snapped, her eyes nearly rolling back in her head. She wondered if she looked like one of those dogs when you found their little sweet spot behind the ears and was kicking her foot embarrassingly. It felt amazing.

Snape just looked away from her and walked back over to the small table in the center of the room. Hermione noticed a serious limp and he seemed to be inconspicuously favoring his left shoulder, his posture far less than his usual regal stride. She was used to seeing him glide across the floor with a near inhuman grace, but now it was as if he had been replaced by Quasimodo or something.

"Are you alright, Professor?" She made her way to the cupboard to pull out a cup. On the way there, her nose detected something that wasn't hidden beneath layers of firewhiskey and cigarette smoke. Blood and sweat. He absolutely reeked of blood. The metallic scent struck the back of her throat and she resisted gagging.

"I'm fine, Granger. How is the wound healing? When I checked it last, it was still bleeding." He gestured toward her with the slightest tilt of the head. He wasn't even looking at her, but down into his glass of amber liquid. His hair was even more lank than normal and he had large dark circles around his eyes that appeared to be nearly sunken in.

Her brow furrowed as she poured ice water into the cup. "It's fine. Itches like hell, but there's not much I can do about that. When did you see it last, Professor?"

"I was still tending it that night before I was…" He stopped himself and began muttering under his breath. She was able to put two and two together and figure that he was summoned.

"Did…he…do that to you?" Snape's eyes snapped to hers and her glass slipped from her fingers in surprise, landing with a small tinkling of shattered glass. Hermione had never noticed his bottomless black eyes, they were like deep pools of onyx that she felt like she had to physically retract herself from.

"The Dark Lord does not like for his followers to be late." Without another word, he stood and strode from the room, limp and all.

Hermione was left staring after him as she knelt to repair the glass and clean up the water that puddled on the hilly linoleum. It wasn't until she was standing by the sink with a fresh glass of water that she realized what the meaning behind his words was.

He healed her in lieu of going to a revel where he got the shit kicked out of him. It was her fault. Snape was hurt because he was helping her. Guilt lodged a huge lump in her throat and she attempted to swallow it down as well as the tears of shame that threatened to slip down her cheeks. She should have never gone to the Ministry. She should have tried harder to stop Harry. It was all her fault.

Severus Snape was the only one of her professors that didn't fawn all over her. He didn't assume she knew everything, even though he called her a know-it-all at times, and she respected him for it. He was easily her favorite in that he gave her hard work and challenged every one of her answers. And now he probably hates her.

Another onslaught of thunder was unleashed outside and it made her tremble. Her feet were nailed to the floor when the electricity went out, drenching her in darkness. Surely a house full of wizards could have come up with some other type of power but no, they had to use the local muggle electric company.

Hermione whimpered as she slid down the cabinets and to the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face in them while the thunder and lightning petrified her into a frozen state. She wasn't sure when she fell asleep, but she awoke to someone carrying her with an unsteady gait.

A crash made her wrap her hands in the fabric of their robes. She couldn't see who it was and she didn't care. Hermione buried her face in the soft material. She then noticed that she had been crying and that she was still letting out little mewing noises. She allowed the sandalwood scent of the person carrying her to calm her breathing and fall back into a light doze, her fingers clinging to them with a death grip.

By the time she awoke again, it was midmorning and the sun was streaming through the window. Her fingers were still clenched onto the black wool of the cloak. Hermione could barely remember being carried to bed the night before, but whoever it was wrapped her in their wonderful smelling cloak. She snorted. Probably because they couldn't pry her fingers from it. Ginny was snoring slightly beside her and she burrowed down into the thick cloak, drifting off.

A gentle shaking roused Hermione. She opened her eyes to see a pair of light green grinning back at her.

"Go away, Harry." Hermione huffed and rolled over, pulling to cloak that she was using as a blanket over her head.

"I'm not Harry, darling." Her eyes slammed open as she hastily flipped over to see the person shaking her. No one she knew had that shade of eye color except for Harry, so she had her wand out in front of her in defense of the stranger. Hermione's stomach plummeted as she took in the sight before her. Lily Potter was beaming down at her, her red hair flowing in an ethereal halo around her glowing form. She was floating, her feet remained a good foot from the floor.

She rubbed at her eyes in disbelief and opened them again, almost certain that she was dreaming and the apparition would be gone in the count of three. She wasn't.

"H-how?" Hermione gasped, her hand covering her mouth in shock.

"You're special, love. Take care of him," and just like that, she was gone.


End file.
